From the Ashes
by Arra
Summary: Tom Riddle is initiated into The Order of the Phoenix. This is a very different take on exactly what the Order is.


From the Ashes (1/1)

Thinking back, I always thought that there should have been more portends, more signs that what we would do that night would change the Wizarding world forever. And not for the good.

But it was a fine night, not a cloud in anywhere to obscure the moon and stars above our heads. The twelve of us stood in a circle in our grove, waiting for our last member to arrive. It was tradition, to meet in that place when a new member was admitted to the Order. And we all stood patiently waiting for our oldest and wisest member, Xanthus Koziecy, to bring the one he was going to Gift his immortality to.

We did not have to wait long, Xanthus joined our circle and smiled before turning and beckoning to the shadows lining the grove.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet Tom Riddle," he said, sounding very pleased with himself. Twelve pairs of eyes focused on the young wizard as Xanthus lead him into the center of our circle. He couldn't have been more than twenty, tall and fine-boned with a dark, regal sort of beauty to him. But I couldn't believe that Xanthus wanted to Gift such a burden onto such a young man.

"He's so young, Xan! Can you not at least wait a decade or two more?" Arabella cried, echoing my thoughts. But her plea fell on deaf ears. We all knew that Xanthus was tired, that he had been looking for a worthy Inheritor for over a century now. But to rush into the initiation just to free himself of the Gift was rash and foolish.

"You are one to speak of youth," Tom said haughtily, his voice oddly high-pitched. "You're younger than I am." Several of us laughed. Yes it was true that, by appearance, Arabella looked no older than a teenager, but in truth she was many many times this foolish child's age. For a member of the Order, the only thing you could tell from our apparent age was how many years it had been since we'd last died. Like the Phoenix we were named for, we always rose from the ashes of death young and beautiful. 

"Has Xanthus not explained what this is? What _we_ are?" Mundungus looked livid. He always did like things to be done according to protocol. And bringing someone into the Order without full knowledge of what they were getting into was ludicrous. If the Inheritor was not truly ready, they could become corrupted or even go mad. The burden of immortality was not to be taken lightly.

"He said that you could give me power, and immortal life," the boy replied. I did not like the hungry look that entered his eyes. The Order had been created by accident thousands of years ago, but those who were Gifted into our ranks were taught quickly that the only thing that ambition got you was ruin.

"Enough!" roared Xanthus. "It is my decision to make. My Gift to give." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I am very tired, please, let me rest." All protests fell silent at this. It was his right, and no one would dare to truly oppose it. A millennium was a very long time to last, most got tired after only a few lifetimes. 

It was obvious that this was what Xanthus wanted and so we all bowed our heads and began to chant. 

At Xanthus' prompting Tom stood with his arms out, the sleeves of his robe pushed up as far as they would go. And Xanthus, after using a knife to carve a thin line down both of his own forearms, began writing symbols upon the inside of the young mans arms in his blood. Once done, he grabbed hold of Tom's shoulder in a painful grip and stared into his eyes. The young man didn't flinch, in fact he started to smile.

Each of us held out our wand-hand palm up, fingers pointing towards the two men in the center of the circle. Magic began to crackle between them in visible arcs, building around Xanthus' body and then surging into Tom. We all turned away as a blinding flash of light lit the clearing.

When we turned back Tom stood panting, with his arms wrapped around himself, Xanthus' body lying at his feet. The young man opened his eyes and stared down at the body at his feet. And the look in his eyes…

I knew right them that we had made a mistake. There was something wrong with his eyes, they looked hallow and too bright, too triumphant. 

We should have stopped him. Should have found another more suited Inheritor and forced him to relinquish the Gift. But we did nothing.

And finally, after a long moment a sneering grin spread across his face. And he threw back his head and laughed.

I still wake some nights, covered in cold sweat, with his laughter ringing in my ears.

AN: Everyone's been speculating what the Order of the Phoenix is so I thought I would too. And this some how popped into my head. I know it's confusing. Basically there are thirteen people in the order and if any of them get tired of their immortality they can Gift it to someone else, causing the Gift-giver to die. This is has to be done with the other members of the Order present. And Xanthus Koszcey did not do this willingly, he was under the Imperiouse curse, created by Voldemorte for this very occasion. 


End file.
